The Soft, The Honorable, and The Evening
by indiansummerchild
Summary: She was a girl from Max's past, one of the Wives of Gastown, the favorite wife of the People Eater, and called The Evening. Like the Citadel Wives, she, and the other Gastown Wives, sought redemption. Meanwhile, the Citadel flourishes. Yet while Furiosa never needed anyone, wanting someone is different... Post Mad Max: Fury Road. Max/Furiosa/OC
1. Chapter 1: The Evening

**I loved Fury Road, and the originals, and I wanted to see the adventures continue.**

 **I do not own these characters.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

They called her "Evening", for her hair was as black as the night. She called herself "Eve". Sometimes, though, her husband called her "The Fruitless", because none of their sons lived to see the week's end. They had been riddled with disease, only because her husband carried it in his body. Sometimes the other wives were able to produce a healthy child. Yet her own were too weak. And so she was called "Fruitless".

She had been taken when she was just a girl, hardly of producing age. The first time she bled, The People Eater was notified, and she was taken from her home. She was taken from the boy that she had loved, the one that had promised her freedom. Promised her a life across the salts, where there was still green and water.

His name had been Sevan Rockatansky.

They had grown up together, side by side, playing in the sand and filth and smoke that consumed all of Gastown. They had learned to love and to hide and to dream together. They had never feared life, when together, under the protection of Sev's older brother. He had only been two years older than them, but a menacing creature despite it.

He had been brooding, quiet, dark. Occasionally taking hold of her black hair to give it a quick tug, or shoving Sev aside to scoop her up when she fell. He had been her protector, her watchful eye. He allowed little to happen to them.

He had allowed her the freedom to fall in love with his brother.

But at thirteen years old, while sprinting through her father's cavernous garage, Sev trailing close behind her in childish game of keep-away, and his brother watching closely, bullets had riddled the metal walls. Sevan had hit the floor instantly as the metal tore through the leg in his flesh, and his brother instantly lunged forward. He had grabbeda hold of the boy's collar and dragged him, whilst scooping up Eve.

Her body jostled against his chest, but she held him tighter, watching the sand kick up as the bullets tore a path behind them. At only fifteen years old, he had the body of a man, and she felt like a yearling against his body. He carried her with ease.

They broke through the garage door and he ran like a piston, Sev trying to use his good leg to keep them moving.

But the Gastown boys in their monstrous vehicles could not be outrun, and the brother was taken down after the third block. He had held her by the back of her shirt as they attempted to tear her from his grip. Her lungs hurt as she released ungodly screams into the air.

And once they had beat his arms raw, and his face bloodied, he let go, falling onto his back in the sand. Sevan lay in the sand, nearly lifeless, cradling his lifeless leg as best he could. And as the Gastown boys loaded up her into the back of the vehicle, she cried for the brother, watching out the dusted windows as he clambered to his feet and raced after them.

Yet he was buried beneath the sand and she was struck into unconsciousness.

* * *

Furiosa was named ruler of the Citadel after the lifeless body of Immortan Joe was devoured by the masses. There was no protest amongst the crippled city when she rose on the platform and sat down in what was once the throne of the man that "preserved" the people. Instead, they welcomed it, palms turned upward toward the skies. And she pulled back the levers and released the waters to run freely into the city.

The Wives, such chrome and pure creatures, took to aiding the nation, feeding and cleaning them, one by one. The Dag was keeper of the Gardens that resided in the stone walls of the Citadel, Capable watched over the flock of rigs and cars. Cheedo was swarmed by the yearlings, whom she fed and loved and comforted. And Toast and Furiosa watched over them all.

In the heat of the day, they worked. They designed a glorious water system, that ran into small troughs at the moment of the mountain. Enough to keep people sustained, yet not enough for others to find greed. Riots were kept at bay.

The people were finally allowed to make shelters, and tents and plastered sand began erecting on the grounds. Homes were finally formed once again.

Hope sprung eternal.

"Do you ever think he will come back?"

Furiosa lifted her gaze from maps that once belonged to Immortan Joe. Trading routes. Ones she was considering. She needed to form treaties with these neighboring cities. It was going to be rough, to say the least, but it had to be done.

It was these times she wished that foreign creature called Max had not slipped into the masses, away from it all. Away from her.

"I don't know," she huffed, smoothing down the corners of the maps. She swiped a hand over her forehead in frustration.

It had been three months since they had seized the Citadel, and the Wives never ceased watching the horizon, in hopes that the man named Max would return.

She never allowed herself hope. Not for the future, not for the Wives, not for his return. Too long had she suppressed any, too many times had any hope been smothered. It was hardly possible to muster any up these days. She became a creature made of steel. Solid and independent, like the rigs she drove. Nothing could penetrate her. She was untouchable.

"You'll need four bodies on the rig," Toast's voice floated from the doorway. She walked over to where Capable and Furiosa sat, hunched over maps, plotting. Always plotting.

She placed a finger on the route to BarterTown. "One driver, two shooters."

"And the third?"

Toast looked up at Furiosa. "Back-up."

"Aunty Entity is a ruthless creature. We don't have that man power now. We have to wait until the nation is healthier before we start building soldiers," Furiosa muttered, placing her head in her hands. "We don't have enough people."

"Us girls are not so incapable," Capable sang, leaning against the dirt wall.

"The Dag is out, with her baby still stewing," Toast said. "And we can't put Cheedo through that again."

Furiosa looked up at Toast, admiration in her eyes. "And you will need to stay here and look after the Citadel while I'm gone."

"We need a man," Capable said, pushing away from the wall. "We need Max."

Furiosa already knew this. She knew it all along.

She needed Max.

* * *

When she had heard of the uprising, she hadn't allowed herself to hope. A rig driver had made a run for it, with the Wives in tow. She had heard her husband speak of the woman. A female rig driver. He had never fancied the idea of a female behind the wheel. Never was he kind to her when he rolled into town in his brother's rig, trading water for gasoline.

The People Eater, her husband, told her of how the woman had been stolen when she was a child, with intentions to be a wife. But when she was found to be barren, Immortan Joe had cared too much for her to see her executed. So he turned her to the warlords and she was trained as a driver. And soon she was placed in charge of the gasoline rigs.

None of the men fancied a woman in charge.

But she had freed the Citadel Wives, and when her husband and his armies had departed from Gastown, all had gone silent for days.

She was not the only wife. There were two others. Honor and The Soft. Honor was a beautiful creature with skin so dark, she looked kissed by a hundred suns. She was a stubborn, yet loving being, and Eve often found comfort knowing she was near. The Soft was a quiet girl, with eyes that looked like the sky. She was younger than Honor and Eve, and so innocent.

"Do you think the Rig Driver will come for us?" The Soft had whispered late in the night, keeping her voice from being heard by the Gastown Warboys that guarded their doors. "We are wives. Do you think she has forgotten about us?"

"Hush girl," Honor had hissed, placing her dark hand against The Soft's light hair. "We shan't depend on others to rescue us," she leaned close to Eve's ear. "We must escape, while there are few Warboys keeping watch, and The People Eater being absent. This is the best shot we have."

Eve laid silently, staring up through the metal grates in their ceiling. The stars were bright that night.

"The husband hasn't been back in eighty three days. Do you think he's finally gone to the Gates of Valhalla?" The Soft whispered.

"Hush," Honor snapped.

"I hope he doesn't come back," The Soft placed a palm to her swollen stomach, a child growing beneath the skin.

Eve rolled onto her side, sandwiched between the two other wives. She wrapped her arms around The Soft's fragile body, pulling her in close.

"Tomorrow night," she whispered, looking over her shoulder at Honor. Honor scooted closer, lacing her arms around Eve's shoulders. "When the Warboys let us out to walk, we will fight them. They're growing weaker. We can escape through the east wing, and drive one of The People Eater's cars out of here. Make for the Citadel. They won't turn us down. The Citadel Wives won't let us. Toast the Knowing will give us safe haven."

Honor nuzzled her face into the back of Eve's neck, smiling. "Freedom," she whispered.

"Freedom," The Soft agreed.

Eve looked up at the stars, and prayed, prayed, prayed, until the sun finally began to rise.

Freedom.

* * *

 **Review if you enjoyed! Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2: The Chase

**I wrote this one quickly, pretty stoked on it. I'm sorry if there are major spelling errors, I rushed it, trying to put it out before I head to work.**

 **Let me know what you guys think!**

* * *

"We don't have any supplies, no weapons," Honor whispered as the Warboys unlocked the Wives' door, opening it. Their keeper, Shank, stepped in, shoulders hunched forward as the tight skin drew his muscle tighter.

The boys were waning without their leader.

"We need nothing but enough gasoline to get across the sand to the Citadel. It's a mere hour's drive," Eve whispered back. "Has the Lord returned yet?" she spoke louder, toward their withering keeper.

"No, Fruitless, not yet," he muttered, coughing slightly.

"Have you caught an illness?" The Soft questioned, in a caring tone. She reached out to touch him, but he snapped away from her.

"The Lord will come, with water and food," he snapped. "Too many questions. Do your exercises before I place you back in your cages, pretty little breeders."

They said nothing as their stepped out into their outdoors court yard.

Hours passed as they walked circles in the sunlight. The Soft's hands braced her back as the weight of her belly pulled her spine forward. Her face turned up to the sky, her eyes shut. Honor sat against a stone wall of the courtyard, savoring the shade. And Eve stared through a chain link fence, at the garages a mere 30 feet from the courtyard.

Wayboys laid in the sun, some leaned against the searing steel, others half over the vehicles, napping in the shade. They looked thin, the water sucked from their skin.

Water had been rationed for two months, with no rigs showing up to trade water for gasoline. The city people suffered first, then the Warboys, and lastly the Wives. And the Wives had waited until the Warboys waned, knowing them to be too weak to truly fight back. This was their moment.

As dusk drew near, Shank, who had been napping against the door of the courtyard, rose and opened the door. His hand braced his body against the doorframe as the Wives passed him entering back inside. Honor first, then The Soft, followed slowly back Evening.

As soon as Evening crossed the threshold, in a heartbeat, she turned and pulled the courtyard door shut behind her, locking Shank on the outside.

"East corridor," she cried, shoving The Soft in the right direction. They ran from the screaming of Shank as he rattled the door.

It was mere moments later that sirens rang loudly, and the women sprinted faster, weaving in and out of corridors. With ease, Honor knocked weak Warboys out of their way as they approached them head on. And at some point she obtained one of their riffles and began firing her way out.

Eve held up the back, wrestling Warboys to the ground that came up behind them. Soon there was a mass behind them, yet the Wives were able to stay mere feet ahead of them, out of their grasp.

"Evening!" Honor cried, and Eve's head snapped forward, just in time to catch the riffle that Honor had thrown toward her. And she watched as Honor picked up speed, barreling through Warboys, and toward the exit.

Her body collided with the door and it snapped open. The women threw their bodies against it as soon as it was shut, holding the mass of weak Warboys back. But with one shove on the inside, The Soft tumbled forward.

"Get something to barricade the door with!" Eve cried, and The Soft scrambled to her feet and took off toward the garages.

Once entering them, she found them now empty, as the Wayboys had left to help contain the Wives. She scurried through them, searching for anything to use. She found an abandoned exhaust pipe laying beneath a massive rig and quickly scooped it up.

Turning, she collided with a painted Warboy, Ras, keeper of the garages.

"Hello breeder," he hissed, his hands flying up to her throat. She choked, dropping the exhaust pipe to claw at his hands.

As she began growing weaker, losing air, a shot rang through the garage, and she felt hot blood splatted across her face. Her eyes widened as she watched it spill from a gaping hole in the middle of the painted Wayboy's forehead, and his body fell to the sand.

The Soft quickly looked up, finding a massive man standing before her, his face covered in filth and fire in his eyes.

They were losing their strength, their backs bracing the door. The heels dug into the sand, their bodies slick with sweat. The pressure coming from the other side of the door got stronger as the Warboys tried to push their way out.

Honor turned her head toward Eve, tears dancing down her dark skin. "I can't hold on," she cried.

But Eve reached over and grasped her hand. "I won't let go, if you don't let go," she breathed. And Honor nodded and screwed her eyes shut.

Everything grew silent as they watched Warboys scaling walls and over buildings, like spiders from their holes. The pressure didn't cease, and Eve watched in horror as they drew nearer. The boys began sprinting across the sand toward them, chains and bags in hand.

"Don't let go," Eve breathed, eyes widening, grasping Honor's hand tighter.

And just as the boys were arm's length from them, gun shots rang out and the boys collapsed in front of them. And seemingly out of nowhere, a dark V8 rounded a corner and came to halt in front of them, crushing the collapsed Warboys beneath the wheels.

The passenger door flew open, and The Soft leaned out, crying and waving them toward the vehicle. And in an instant, Honor and Eve sprinted faster than they ever had before toward the car. A bullet ripped through the back of Eve's thigh and she stumbled forward.

Honor turned and grabbed her under the arms, Eve trying to run with her.

"Faster, faster!" The Soft cried, reaching her arms out.

Honor climbed into the back seat, and both her and The Soft pulled Eve in as well.

Eve's foot had barely left the ground before the vehicle lurched forward with a roar of the engine. Bullets riddled the sides of the vehicle, and the Wives covered their heads, Eve pulling The Soft close to her body.

Moments passed and the bullets grew fewer, but the driver didn't slow down. The Soft removed her shirt and they tied it around Eve's bleeding thigh. She hissed in pain at the pressure.

Eve lifted her head to look up at the driver, who was looking over their shoulder. Dark eyes met hers, and a hand found the top of her head and shoved it down.

"Stay down," the driver growled, in a near animal sound.

They hunkered low for a few more minutes until the driver slammed their foot on the gas, the V8 engine roaring in pleasure. Eve sat up fully then, looking out the back window to see a fleet of cars following behind them.

"I said stay down!" the driver cried, taking a hard turn, through the gate of Gastown. The roar lessened as the sand beneath the wheels absorbed the sound.

"Where are you taking us?!" Eve cried, climbing into the passenger seat.

The driver, with a hood pulled over their head, leaned back and pulled a riffle from the backseat. The driver said nothing for a moment, staring at the rear view mirror at the masses that followed. There was a long moment of silence.

"Can you drive?"

"What?" she asked, frowning.

"Can you drive?!" The driver snapped their head in her direction, and for the first time she caught a slight glimpse of their face.

A man. A man with dark, familiar eyes. And just as quickly as he had looked at her, he had looked away.

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, I can drive!"

He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into his lap. She quickly pressed her foot over his, onto the gas pedal, her eyes staring out at the sand, the sun now completed beneath the surface of the earth. He slid his foot out from beneath hers and climbed out from underneath her into the passenger seat.

"It's a straight shot. Don't make any turns. No matter what, drive straight," he spoke lowly, before rolling down the passenger window.

"Where are you taking us?" She repeated.

He froze, halfway out of the window.

"To freedom."

* * *

"Furiosa!" Toast cried, stepping away from the spyglass, mounted at the opening of the mountain. Her mouth fell open, staring at the chase that was rapidly approaching the Citadel.

Furiosa came running, stopping at the opening of the mountain to gaze out over the sand. The spyglass was no longer needed, as gun fire and flares lit up the skies. A lone vehicle raced across the sand, surrounded by two large rigs and three vehicles. The small fleet was catching up to the lone driver.

"What do we do?" Capable questioned, stepping beside Furiosa, gazing out with her.

She was silent for a moment.

"Ready the Rig."

* * *

Eve watched out of the rear view mirror as the man climbed across the back of the V8, his body swaying in accord with the jolts of the vehicle.

The fleet behind them wasn't large, led by the weak Shank, but their rigs were instruments of death. They roared behind them, like a victory cry of a beast closing in on its prey. Like The People Eater did when she birthed him a son, before it passed through the Gates of Valhalla.

She had just been a machine.

She pressed down on the gas medal, glancing up to see the driver now propping up a sniper rifle on his knee. They were accurate shots, delayed as he steadied it each time. But one by one, War Boys peeled from the sides of the pursuing rigs, getting crushed beneath their own tires.

Then as their numbers grew smaller, targets becoming a difficult feat of tracking, the driver turned and slammed his fist against the top of the V8. "Slow down!" he cried, and she obeyed.

She slammed on the breaks furiously, the impact causing him to slide over the top of the V8, rolling onto the hood. He grabbed onto the top of the hood, now face to face with her. He held a death grip, eyes widened in shock.

The vehicle came to a halt. The pursuing rigs flew past them, causing the V8 to sway with the pressure of the wind that passed. The War Boys cried, banging on the sides of their rigs, and they begin to slow down as well.

But Eve could only stare at the face before her, and he could only stare back.

"What are you doing?!" Honor cried, shaking Eve's shoulder furiously.

"They're turning around!" The Soft cried.

But Eve couldn't tear her gaze away from his dark eyes. Her face had slackened, her mouth slightly gaping as she stared. Gazed a hole into his face. Thick lips that had once formed mischievous grins while tugging at her hair, bristled jaw line that had once not been so thick, once could not bare hair. And eyes that would hold her own with dark meanings, as she would stare at him from a distance, in wonderment, in amazement, in fear.

"Max?" she whispered.

He smiled faintly, before knocking his knuckles on the glass and swiftly reaching an arm through the passenger window. Honor had climbed into the front and handed him a loaded bazooka.

"Drive!" he cried, turning back around, and Eve dropped her foot to the gas like a stone in water, and the Interceptor lunged forward in the sand.

Within moments, the War Rigs were surrounding them, the cries of excited War Boys and engines roaring. Explosions surrounded them, heating up the Eve's cheek. Glass shattered, cascading down on The Soft and Honor as they covered their heads in the back seat.

But Eve drove.

The V8 trailed behind one of the War Rigs that was slowing down to box their vehicle in, and Eve's heart began to race. They were slowly getting out numbered.

The War Rig in front of them swerved violently, opening a clearing. But as soon as the war Rig was out of view, Eve understand why.

A much larger one took its place, yet speeding in the opposite direction—coming straight toward them.

Eve gasped, slamming her foot on the brakes, and swerved violently. The side of her head slammed against the window, and everything started going fuzzy. She shook her head, attempting to shake away the fog that was beginning to cloud her vision.

Max climbed off the hood of the V8 and onto the War Rig that she had swerved away from, now driving in reverse beside them. A metallic hand had reached out and pulled Max aboard.

Eve could feel blood trickling down the side of her face, and she wondered if it was her own.

"There it is!" Honor cried, jutting a finger toward the Citadel, that was now a mere handful of miles from them.

Eve slammed her foot on the gas, harder than she had before, and the Interceptor pulled away from the rest of the pack. She didn't slow down, watching out the rear view mirror as the War Rig from the Citadel took down the Gastown rigs one after another. She continuously shook her head, trying to shake the fog away.

"Are you okay?" Honor asked, frowning at her.

Eve said nothing and drove straight. Soon the fleet was miles from them, erupting in flames, and the V8 pulled into the flat land surrounded by mountainous rocks.

She slammed on the brakes, and the V8 came to a halt.

They were silent for a moment, when the ground began to shift. Then began to raise. Honor glanced out the window at the platform they had stopped on, that was now lifting them from the sand.

Eve rolled her head back against the headrest, and shut her eyes.

Everything went black.

* * *

 **Thank you guys for any love! It is greatly appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3: The Hauntings

**First off, thank you guys so much for reviewing! I love getting any kind of feedback! Keeps me motivated to continue to write.**

 **I went and saw Fury Road again last night, for the third time. It's addicting. It's beautiful. And it helped me decide in what direction I want to go with this story.**

 **Going to try to explore Max's side of things a little more.**

 **I do not own these characters.**

 **Thanks!**

* * *

 _She had never seen his face clean. Always smeared in grease, always covered in ash. He had always been the quiet boy, working on his V8 Interceptor._

 _"He's going to be a road warrior someday," Sev would tell her when she asked._

 _"I've never met a road warrior before," she would whisper back, as she watched the brutish boy called Max, slide in and out from underneath his vehicle._

 _Sev would laugh. "That's because they're all gone now. They were people of the old world. Called cops. Part of a club called 'police'. I think he just likes to make believe. He'll never be a warrior."_

 _But as time passed, years passed, and Max finally completed his V8, he would disappear for days on end. He'd come back, sometimes, covered in bruises—blood beneath his nails. And though it was a fearsome sight, she never was afraid of him._

 _"Protecting the Fury Road?" she asked him, while they sat in her father's garage. He picked at the massive scabs decorating his forearms. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, then back at his arm._

 _"There's a road, that connects all the cities," he spoke lowly, a near growl. He leaned forward, placing a finger in the sand. He dragged it back and forth, making deep canyons in the ground. A map. Then circles at the end of each line. "Gastown, Citadel, Bulletfarm… Bartertown…" he stopped, then drew a large circle at the end of one road in the sand._

 _"What's that?"_

 _He wiped the back of his hand across his nose. "The salt." He drew a line through the circle that represented the salt. "Someday, we will cross it. And be free of this place."_

 _She smiled then, patting his filthy hand. "I'll go where you go."_

 _He looked up at her, and she could have sworn, at that moment, that a faint smile had spread across his face. And she wondered if he were right. If one day, they would cross the salts, and finally be free._

* * *

 _Eve? Where are you?_

 _Where are you, Eve? Why have you left me?_

 _Eve._

 _Eve._

"Eve?"

Her eyes fluttered open, pained against the light that seeped past her dust filled eye lashes. She blinked heavily, against the pounding in her skull, the ache in her body. She felt as though a War Rig had hit her with such force, it knocked the very soul from her being.

War Rig.

Chase.

The Citadel.

The Wives.

Her eyes snapped opened, shooting up into a seated position.

"Honor, The Soft," she cried, looking around furiously.

"We're here, Eve," came The Soft's quiet voice, as she and Honor stepped out from behind the women that surrounded her. They were beautiful girls, chrome, pure, like the other Wives. One with hair the color of the skies, when consumed by clouds. The other, with sun kissed skin. Another with green, mischievous eyes, another with a fragile face, and hair as dark as her own. And lastly, behind them all, leaning in the door frame, was a woman fiercer than she had ever seen before.

She was not chrome, not like the wives. Yet more beautiful. Her face was straight, dark grease smeared across her brow, making her more terrifying than any War Boy she had ever seen. Her eyes were bright, yet filled with certain hatred. And instead of a fleshly left arm, it was one made of many beautiful metals. She was an instrument. A beautiful, terrifying machine.

Eve held the woman's gaze before she pushed away from the door frame and walked out.

Eve had been lying in someone's cot, she realized then, and slowly turned, placing her feet on the stone flooring. The Citadel Wives all took a step back, but Honor and The Soft quickly approached her. The Soft, sitting at her feet, rested her cheek against Eve's knees. "I was afraid you'd never wake," she whispered, and Eve stroked back her blonde hair.

"How long?" she whispered, resting her head against Honor's strong shoulder, who had taken a seat beside her.

"Three days," one of the Citadel Wives answered. The one with short, dark hair. The rest of them stared at the Gastown wives in wonderment.

Eve smiled at them. Their lovely, chrome saviors.

* * *

Furiosa sat at the mouth of the mountain, staring down at her nation, drinking water, trading food, building housing. She smiled faintly.

Redemption came in a different form than she had imagined, yet a lovely, lovely outcome it had been.

She imagined, one day, that it would be a healthy nation. Prosperous, happy. That maybe, in the end, she would die knowing she had created something good, something pure. Die with the Wives by her side, not alone.

Maybe with him by her side. Maybe.

"I didn't think you'd return," she spoke out into the air, sensing him to be watching her.

He said nothing, but stood beside her, staring at the lush greens growing at the top of the mountains. She looked up at him, at his bristled jaw, at his hair that grew in more evenly now. His dark eyes, unwilling to look down at her. His hands hung limply at his sides.

She reached out and grabbed one.

He looked at her then, his brows creasing.

"I went back," he said lowly, "To the canyon. Just to see if, maybe…" he paused, flexing his hand within her own. "They had torn the girl apart, and the boy… Ashes."

Furiosa shut her eyes. "There was nothing we could do."

He twitched violently, shaking his head, staring through vacant eyes. And it was gone, just as fast as it had come. He blinked. "They haunt me. Those I could not save."

Silence.

"You belong here," she whispered, looking up at him. "This nation needs you here."

His upper lip twitched slightly, and he stared at her. But then his head snapped to the side, his face straightening. She followed his gaze.

The girl stood in the doorway, her chest heaving, her jaw locked, as she stared at Max from across the room. Furiosa could see from here that her knuckles, clenched in fists, were white with fear. That she shook. Her long, black hair, matted up from lying on it for three days, was pulled back behind her ears. She was an intoxicating sight.

"She haunted me…" he whispered, and Furiosa wondered if he had meant to be heard.

Furiosa looked up at Max, who stared back at the girl. His jaw was set as well, but his eyes were soft. Softer than she had ever seen them before. He pulled his hand from her grip and stepped forward, slowly. She watched as he approached her, slowly, cautiously, like an animal stalking a weaker being.

And the girl, she shook harder. Her chin trembled, her eyes lined with silver. She was holding back a storm. A deep set storm, that raged inside of her.

Finally, when Max stood before her, the girl reached out her hands, and touched his face. Her fingers traced the lines of his skin, and he merely gazed back at her, allowing the contact. And finally, her face crumpled, and she pulled her body against his. And to Furiosa's surprise, instead of simply allowing the contact, Max embraced her—tightly. One of his thick arms capturing her behind the back, the other hooking her under her good thigh. And in one fluid motion, he lifted, and she hooked her legs around him, and they became one.

Furiosa's breath hitched in her throat and she quickly looked away, rising to stand. She quickly made her way toward the exit, her eyes averted. But she took one last glance before exiting the room.

Max's face was buried in the crook of the girl's neck, while her chest wracked with sobs. And they held each other tighter than she had ever seen anyone hold someone before.

And she left while her heart sank into the pit of her stomach.

Because her hopes were once again being smothered.

* * *

Max could her tenseness as she passed them, exiting at the doorway. And his body absorbed it, locking down his muscles, collapsing his lungs. He wondered if she meant to do it, to play with him so. The brilliantly fearful woman, brave and terrifying. Mesmerizing.

He placed Eve onto her feet, looking her squarely in the face.

She was different now. What had once been smooth skin, was now a little more course. Lines from years of unhappiness, misery. She had the body of a woman, with curves he never thought she'd grow to have. She was not the young girl that played in the sand, but a woman who fought for her freedom.

His vision went red. Flashes of her screaming, being torn from his arms clouded his senses. He jolted back, stepping away, shaking the images from his mind. But he couldn't shake free in time. They all started, all of the faces. All of the voices.

 _Why did you leave us, Max?_

 _Why did you let us die?_

 _Max!_

He screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head furiously. "Not now," he hissed. "Not today."

But they kept coming. First his blue eyed child, then the old man, then Nux. But they didn't stop. Splendid, his mother, his dearest friend in his youth, Sevan. And finally, Evening, again. She was tore from his arms.

His grabbed at his hair. "She's here!" he cried at the visions, the hauntings. "She cannot haunt me any longer!"

"Max?" he felt hands on his face.

The hauntings. They were consuming him. Hands on him, holding him down, under water. He was drowning. He grabbed a wrist between his finger and his thumb, and bent it back, away from him.

But he was dragged from his hauntings to the sound of a cry of pain. And reality snapped back into place. He stood over her, collapsed onto her knees, preying at his hand as he held her wrist, her hand bent into a painful position.

"Max!" his eyes shot up. Furiosa stood before him, her chest heaving, as though she had sprinted. He looked down at the girl as his feet, and quickly released her.

He brought his shaking heads to his face, swiping his palms across his jaw, over and over again. He cleared his throat, cocking his head. "You're here," he whispered, shutting his eyes. He swayed. "Here now, can't haunt me. She's—she's—" he shook his head. "safe. Safe now. Not dead. Not a ghost."

He looked back down at her, now being helped up by Furiosa. He reached out to touch her, back she drew back, like a wounded animal. Furiosa shook her head at him, pulling the girl close to her body.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and placed his palm against the girl's head.

The contact instantly plunged him back into his hauntings, and he jumped back, shaking free of them.

"Sorry. So sorry," he breathed and quickly exited the room.

* * *

 **I look forward to hearing what you guys think. And any suggestions or requests would be awesome!**


	4. Chapter 4: Wanting and Needing

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I love it!**

 **I apologize now if there are many spelling errors! This was rushed to get out before I head to work. I won't be able to update again until next Tuesday, so I wanted to give guys something ASAP.**

 **I do not own these characters!**

* * *

He wasn't the same man as the boy she had once known. The boy with a head filled with dreams and desires. To cross the salts, to become a road warrior—a protector of Fury Road. She could not deny that he had rescued her from the hell that was Gastown, imprisoned by The People Eater to be his useless wife. But despite all, somewhere, buried within her, she wished he had not been the one to aid her. For then she would have never seen him like this, tormented by the very sight of her. Rather, she would only have every known him as her quiet protector. A good memory to carry with her in life.

To her own dismay, she had shed far more tears than she had in years. And she wondered if this was what came with freedom—emotions, the freedom to cry.

While in Gastown, she never cried. After she bore two sons, neither surviving a week's end, she shed no tears. They had been riddled with disease, inherited from their father. She wondered then if he would cast her off like an overused coat, useless and without value. But she did not cry.

When she bore him a daughter, healthy in every way, he had her disposed of. A woman should not inherit a nation.

She wept then, for the life of her pure daughter. She wept for days. And when Honor had held her close and whispered, "Where does it hurt?" and Eve had placed a hand over her heart, Honor had questioned, "Will your tears make the pain go away?"

And that's when she finally shut off the tears, pulled back her shoulders, and stood tall. Because crying for a sign a frailty, and she was a strong creature. She did not allow tears to fall from that day on.

Until she had seen Max again, and hope had been restored to her.

Hope for a future that was shared with her quiet protector, safe and sound by his side. A future filled with dreams of lands across the salts.

But he had crushed those notions between his finger and his thumb. He was a tormented creature, who looked at her through clouded vision, only seeing clarity when his eyes were fixed upon the lovely Rig Driver. She wondered if they had loved for long. Maybe shortly after she was snatched by the Gastown Boys. Maybe she dreamed of crossing the salts with him.

Maybe.

* * *

No broken bones, just bruised flesh. She didn't cry about it, only hissed in pain when she touched the skin. She was strong, though. She would be fine.

Furiosa had guided her back to her quarters, shared with the other Gastown wives.

The Dag had taken a liking to The Soft, both caring children within their flesh. And Honor and Capable had been quick friends, both enjoying the vehicles, the weapons. And Cheedo had introduced the War Pups to the Wives, and they had gone of their ways.

Then there was Toast, who wandered the corridors of the Citadel, praying that the Gastown Wives would find their own way, and leave the Citadel in it's much deserved peace. She was a selflessly selfish person, and did not seek disruption in their new found quiet.

And Furiosa handled it all.

She stepped into a hallowed out room in the center of the Citadel. She knew he would be here. This is where he had been branded, where his Inceptor had been held. It was his first taste of the Citadel under the control of Immortan Joe. It was a wretched place, yet the only that he knew.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, finding him seated on the hood of a hallowed out vehicle. He picked at the scabs that littered his arms and hands. "I know you're not much of the talking type," she breathed, walking up to him. She contemplated sitting beside him, but knew he would stand if she did. "But sometimes it helps."

He grumbled slightly, and she thought maybe he rolled his eyes. Maybe he hadn't.

"You didn't break her," she smiled faintly. "I think it'd take a lot more than a simple bruise from you to break a girl like her. Someone who was forced to please The People Eater for as long as she did… We are not fragile beings, us women. We're stronger than man, in some senses."

"I would never deny it," he spoke slowly, peeling off a large scab. Blood drew to the surface, pooling into a lovely crimson purl. He swiped it away with his thumb.

There was a long silence, half of her waiting to see if he would speak, the other half mustering up some sort of wisdom to bestow upon him. But she did not believe him to be less wise than her. He had seen his share of misery, been dealt many blows from fate as well. She knew him to be as tortured as she was. But that was what they were—both broken beings.

"Who is she to you?"

Max's mouth twitched, separating his hands that had been mindlessly picking at one another, and sheathed them in his pockets. "One of those that I could not save."

"And now?"

Max looked up at her, examining her clean face. It was free of filth, free of grease, and she looked more tired without them. But more human, more beautiful. And if he were the type to smile at such a petty thing, he would have.

"Now, she is of the Citadel clan, ruled by the tyrant, Furiosa."

A smile crept across her face. "What will you do now?"

There was a pregnant silence. She knew the answer, and wondered why she had even questioned him. She didn't truly want to hear it. She never did.

"I'll make my own way."

He stood from the hood and started toward the door. She took a heavy step to the left, reached out her metallic arm. His right shoulder met her left, as she blocked him, and she grasped at the front of his shirt.

"Where?"

He said nothing, staring at her with a creased brow.

Her chest heaved, and she knew he could feel it against his broad shoulder. She looked up at him with wanting eyes, silently pleading with him to change his mind—to stay. But the side of his lip twitched in the faintest of smiles, and he inhaled deeply, shutting his eyes, and leaned forward.

His forehead knocked against hers, and she shut her own eyes at the contact, her once rigid body finally relaxing. And they stayed like that for what could have been moments, minutes, or hours. Neither knew.

"Across the salts," he growled, and finally stepped away.

Furiosa's brow creased, as she watched him leave, out the doorway, and back into the dark bowels of the Citadel.

* * *

Three weeks had passed, and she hadn't seen him again after their first encounter. There had been whisperings amongst the Citadel wives. Rumors that he had gone off to save the Bullet Farm wives, or that he had finally gone into the desert to die alone. Eve had watched as Toast had scoffed at them.

"He's wandering. It's what he does," she would snap, annoyed by their obsessions.

But twenty one days had passed, and Furiosa had said not a word about his absence. And she began to wonder if he would ever return.

The Soft had taken a liking to the gardens, and spent hours planting seeds and harvesting with The Dag. And Eve was grateful for that. The babies were safe in the quiet and fresh caverns of the Citadel. And many nights she would find Honor hanging from the bottom of a rig, silently watching as Capable dismantled and rebuilt engines.

And Eve would find Toast the Knowing watching her, always. And so she had begun shadowing Toast, going where she went, doing as she did. And as the three weeks passed, Toast had grown a fondness for her, and began sharing information about the Citadel with her. Shown her where the water was pumped up out of the earth, where the weaponry was. Even helped her perfect her aim with the rifles and shotguns.

"Furiosa wants to make trade with Bartertown, but we are too small in numbers," she had said on the twenty second night, as both her and Eve huddled under the light of a lantern. She placed a sun kissed finger on a massive map. "The road is too dangerous, and Aunty Entity in a ruthless ruler. But if we could make peace with them, we would have ample access to glass and metals. The Citadel could benefit greatly."

Even stared down at the map, at the long stretch of highway that separated the Citadel from Bartertown. It sliced through canyons and empty spaces, ending where the salts began.

"We could do it," Eve said, tapping a finger to her lips. "It would be a skeleton crew, but we could manage it," she reached over and grabbed blueprints of the War Rig, that had been pinned to the corner of the map. "Furiosa at the helm," she tapped her finger against the driver's seat. "Capable and Honor in the hold beneath the cabin. She can repair anything that breaks, that way we won't have to stop. I'll sit in the tail, our eyes and ears in the back. And you," she tapped the passenger seat, "Co-pilot."

Toast sighed and leaned back, "She would not let me go. I must be here to run the Citadel."

Eve heaved a heavy sigh as well, going back over the map and blueprints. "Will there ever be enough to survive in this wasteland?" she muttered.

"When Max returns with word from Bartertown. That is our hopes."

Eve's ears perked. "Max? He is coming back?"

Toast shrugged, leaning back on her heels. "Yea, any day now. He and Furiosa spoke of her plans, I suppose. Said he had someone in Bartertown who could grant us passage into the city. Said he would do this for her and she would give him one of the War Rigs in return. For his trip."

"Trip?" her chest was heaving, eye wide.

Toast nodded. "Yea, his trip across the salts."

Eve smiled faintly and let her shoulders relax. "He's doing it after all…" she breathed. "He's still a dreamer."

* * *

It was another eight days before he turned up, his Interceptor moaning across the Fury Road and back into the rocks of the Citadel. He pulled it into the garage and Capable and Honor had immediately began dismantling to puttering engine.

"Hey, hey," he growled, grabbing Capable by the wrist. "Easy on the goods."

She smiled and eagerly tore her wrist free, and threw open the hood. And he climbed the stairs into the Citadel, skipping a step with each leap.

"Max!" Cheedo had cried, racing toward him and throwing her arms around him, a dozen War Pups trailing behind her. He had gone rigid and waited until she pulled away before putting her head and moving on.

When he stepped into the room that was the mouth of the Citadel, where the waters pooled, Furiosa had stood with Toast and Eve, around the table of maps. He stood in the doorway for a moment, silently. And Eve was the only one to notice him, lifting her head, her straight face unwavering.

And he simply stared back at her, a deep crease in his brow. His breathing became labored and he clenched his jaw, the muscles there bulging.

Finally, Furiosa, noticing Eve to be listening no longer, lifted her head to find him standing there. She broke into a smile and stood fully, placing her hands on her hips.

"I thought you had died in the desert."

A silent moment passed before he finally tore his gaze from Eve's, directing it to Furiosa's. He slowly strolled towards her, watching through his peripherals as Eve took a step back and exited the room.

"You've been granted entrance into Bartertown."

* * *

Eve escaped to the gardens, finding solace in the quiets of the caverns. The Dag and The Soft had been tending to the gardens on top of the Citadel in the past week, and so the caverns had become a safe haven to her.

The air in there was fresh and cold, smiling of deep soils and spices. She would weave in and out of the hanging trellises, allowing the hanging vines to brush her cheeks and shoulders as she passed. She would often read there, from the library that dwelled within the safe that used to hold the wives.

But today, she merely paced back and forth, weaving in and out of the hanging rows, until she could calm her nerves. And finally after an hour, she turned to walk down one of the rows, but stopped.

Max stood silently at the other end.

Her heart rate kicked up a notch, and she contemplated walking toward him. But turned and began walking along the edges of the rows. After a moment, she noticed Max to be doing the same, his gaze on her the entire time.

Occasionally she would catch him shaking his head furiously, only to be calm a moment later. And after a few minutes, she finally stopped, and they both stepped into a row and approached one another. And when they finally stood before one another, she averted her gaze, finding the sand floor to become highly interesting in that moment.

"Are you afraid?" he spoke lowly. "Of me?"

She shook her head, her gaze still toward the floor. And after a moment, she felt his knuckle find its way under her chin, and lifted her face to look at him.

His eyes slowly scanned her face, as though memorizing every curve. He blinked heavily, and then snapped his face in a single shake, before shutting his eyes. His breathing became labored, his grip tightening on her chin.

She knew what was coming, and quickly took a step back, but he grabbed her by the arm. "Don't go," he snapped, his eyes shut. And she froze, watching as his chest heaved as he fought his inner demons. And as the seconds past, his breathing seemed to be under control, his grip loosening. And he opened his eyes.

She waited a moment, waiting to see if he was Max, or the tormented soul. And when she saw his eyes soften, she knew him to be all right. She stepped forward, and cupped his face in her hands.

"You grew up," she whispered, running her thumbs along the skin under his eyes. "You're different than I imagined you to be," she breathed.

He said nothing, simply stared down at her with softened eyes. Her thumbs brushed his skin, over and over and over. And he resisted the needs to shut his eyes against the feeling. But she then moved the pads of her thumbs across his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, then his eyes. Forcing him to shut them.

She placed one of her hands against his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath it. And with her other hand, she ran her thumb across his thick lips. They separated on their own accord, and her breath hitched in her throat. She held her thumb to his bottom lip and took a step forward. His heart drummed faster beneath her hand and his eyes opened slowly.

"It was you," she whispered, and took a deep breath before the plunge, the leap of faith, the thing that terrified her the most. She pressed her mouth to his, tasting the sun and sand and water against his lips. And he was still for a moment, as she held her lips to his. And she grew frustrated with his lack of a reaction and with the hand over his chest, grabbed a handful of her shirt and pulled herself closer to him.

Her hips collided against his, and she felt his go rigid for a second, sucking a sharp breath in at the contact. A low moan erupted from deep in his chest, and instantly, she felt his hand snap against the back of her skull and his mouth press forcefully against her own.

It was bruising, as though it was something that he had been waiting to do for years. As though he had simply been so desperate for human contact that his body craved it—that he was no longer to be controlled. And he devoured her, his hands everywhere, and she welcomed it.

And finally he broke away for air, but she held them together, her nose pressed into his cheek.

"It was always supposed to be you."

He went rigid at her words, his body locking down and he quickly pulled away from her. His jaw clenched as he stared down at her, his face cold and emotionless.

"No," he breathed, taking another step back. "No, he's still alive."

"Who?"

He breathed hard. "My brother."

* * *

Furiosa had wandered for what seemed like a lifetime, trying to find him. Plans. She needed to discuss the plans with him… That's what she told herself, at least. She wondered if she really did just want to see his face after so long of him being gone. She hated herself for it. She didn't need him. She didn't need anyone.

Finally, she had stepped into the gardens to seek him out. And she had seen their feet beneath the hanging trellises, and had approached them. But upon reaching the end of the row, she had seen then, deep in an intimate embrace, his mouth on hers, his hands frantically searching for something to hold on to.

And she fought down the anger that arose in her chest, pulled back her shoulders and turned up her chin and walked on.

Because she didn't need him. She didn't need anyone.

But wanting someone was different.

* * *

 **Reviews are always greatly appreciated!**

 **Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 5: Damaged Beyond Repair

**Hello lovelies! Sorry for being MIA for so long! I was captivated by another plot line, and have spent my time elsewhere. And so here is a small update, just to keep things moving a little. I promise for a longer, more exciting chapter very soon!**

 **Thanks!**

* * *

He was alive, but some days he wondered if it had been better for him to be dead. It is better to see a life end, than to become a despicable piece of outcast rubbish—despised in even this wasteland of sand and filth.

Eve had not ran when he had said that, when those words had slipped through the gates of his mind and across his tongue. It was knowledge that he had locked away from himself, finding it better to consider him dead than the men that he stood now. And he had not thought of the brother for hundreds of days. But being around this woman flushed him out—brought up everything he had worked so hard on keeping down.

The demons. They all took flight in the recesses of his mind.

She stood before him, claw-like hands grasping at the front of his linen shirt. It was instinct for him; to bare himself rigid, leaned back on his heels and his chin upward. Better to stand as a wall, then a creature of comfort.

"You shouldn't have told me that," she had breathed and departed with not another word. Maybe she had been too afraid to inquire of more information—maybe he had been to apprehensive to answer them.

But he had found himself in the garages instantly, palm brushing over the top of his pathetic V8. Pulled from the outside of the canyon, where it had been crushed between the two rigs. He had pulled a crisp War Boy body from it and spent days tinkering before it finally revved to life. It was shambles, but it ran.

And he was tired of talking to the corpse.

There were good mechanics in Gastown, and he traded his boots for the repairs. They had told him just a day to hammer out the cavernous concaves of the steel ulterior. He was welcome to wait in the garage—he wondered if they desired the protection, weakened without water.

The People Eater would never return.

And then he had seen them, day after day, walking circles in a courtyard. The women. One looked all too familiar. And it only took him three days before he knew it to be her.

He was not the most noble of men, and considered fleeing upon realizing it was her—the girl from his childhood. And as he was preparing to do so, late one evening, fate decided otherwise, and he was cornered.

And now, as he stood over his Interceptor—still hardly the breathing piece of steel it once was—he does not regret that it lead him back to the Citadel, where he could find peace in seeing the Wives and Furiosa still striving. To see the nation flourishing in their care. Yet seeing Eve…

Like his brother, it would have been better for her to be dead.

* * *

He kept to himself for two days, wandering the bowels of the Citadel, and she did not disrupt him. Her world did not pause when he arrived—she would not devote her precious time to him any longer. It all simply reinforced her previous knowledge; that fleshly desires were unneeded distractions.

Furiosa needed no one.

They needed supplies from Bartertown, and she could wait little longer. Yet she withheld her questions until he came to her—which he finally did on the third day, while she sat on the hood of a War Rig. It had been put to rest well before the redemption that was Fury Road, and sat in the dark, eaten by rust and rot.

"It could run again," he said, stepping into the single, cavernous room that held the Rig.

"It needs more time than Capable can spare," she turned, swinging her legs over the edge of the hood to climb down.

Max stepped forward, hands hooking onto her hips to assist her. Yet her hip jolted to the side, rejecting his touch, and he took a step back. Her feet landed against the stone flooring, and she swiped her palms clean against her thighs.

"You could work on it."

She scoffed, turned and brushed past him.

"I don't have time to fix things that are damaged beyond repair."

And she was gone.

* * *

"When do you ride out?" Toast asked, sitting at the mouth of the Citadel mountain. The moon shone brightly, casting a silver stream of light over her lovely, dark skin.

Furiosa stood beside her, arms crossed over her chest. She stared down at her nation. Small fires were lit across the earth beneath them.

"Two days."

Toast looked up at her. "And what of Max?"

Furiosa said nothing.

"The lovely, broken Road Warrior," Toast breathed, looking back down at the people; quiet, peaceful. "He will either be your redemption, or your undoing, Furiosa."

Her head snapped down to look at Toast.

Toast sighed heavily. "And sometimes… we all need someone to unwind the tight coils within us," she reached out and grabbed Furiosa's steel hand. "Sometimes we need to be… undone."

* * *

 **Thank you, lovelies!**


	6. Chapter : The Beginning Is The End

**I'm alive! I have been slammed with work and haven't been able to put out anything in a long time. So I tried to write something up quickly before I'm gone for a 3 week work trip. You guys are lovely and I love hearing your thoughts!**

 **Please enjoy!**

* * *

"We go at the week's end."

Max glanced up from his bowl of boiled greens. Furiosa had stormed in, like a bat out of hell with fists full of maps, clenching so hard her knuckles were rendered white. His brow creased as he leaned back into his steel seat, glancing at the wives, who had gone rigid at her forceful entry.

"Are we not ready?" Toast sputtered, placing her rusted utensil back into her cracked bowl.

Furiosa said nothing, slamming her maps down onto the surface of the table they had been seated at. In a rush, the wives lifted their bowls to allow further space. Max made no move, simply watching her from below his brow.

"We leave tomorrow and finish this damned plan. We complete this task and we won't have to return there again. And then you," she looked up, jutting a metallic digit in his direction. "Then you may finally be on your way."

His brows shot up and he pressed his boot to the edge of the table, using it as an anchor as he pressed his chair away, the feet screeching painfully against the stone floors. He rose, grabbing his rifle from off of the table and slinging it over his shoulder.

"I'll sit this one out, yea?" he breathed, turning and making for the door.

The wives watched silently as he left, then turned their gaze to Furiosa, who stood with clenched fists at her side. Her jaw muscles bulged in rage as she screwed her teeth shut.

"Go after him…" Capable breathed.

And with a deep breath, she pivoted on her heel and followed out the door.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Eve's motions ceased at the quiet voice that drifted over her shoulder. She glanced back to see The Soft standing in the door frame, her slender shoulder leaned against the edge, her hand splayed over her ever-growing belly.

She was a lovely sight, with her blonde locks breaded in a way she had never seen before, laid over her shoulders and running between her swollen breasts. Yet Eve turned away in disgust, as the girl had slowly began morphing into one of the Citadel wives, swathed in white linens with breads running down her back. Eve had watched silently as the wives of Gastown and faded away.

"We're leaving," she snapped, grabbing fistfuls of the clothes the Citadel wives had provided for them, and shoved them into a large carpet bag. Her hands shook violently.

"Leaving? Where to?" The Soft breathed, stepping into the room, her bare feet swift against the stone. She reached out and tenderly caught one of Eve's hands, pulling it to her chest.

"Anywhere. We're free now, we can go anywhere," Eve sighed, clenching her fist in an attempt to cease its shaking. She looked up at The Soft, who watched her with large eyes. "We are not anyone's property. We are our own people and are free to go where we like."

The Soft said nothing as Eve pulled her hand free, and continued forcing items into her already over bloated bag.

"We like it here, Evening."

Eve's movements ceased, and she could no longer fight the storm that tore through her insides. Her shoulders collapsed and she quickly grasped her face to hide the emotions that tore free from her barrier.

She broke open, and wondered whether she would ever be able to put herself back together again.

* * *

Furiosa was sure to use her metallic grip when she caught Max at the back of his shirt. The false grip was stronger, colder, harsher. And she was no longer attempting pleasantries with him.

"You cannot sit this one out. We made a deal," she snapped, pulling him to a halt.

And she had no time to prepare, or even expect it, as he snapped around, knocking her grip free, and causing her to stumble a couple of steps back. She watched as he drew a large, intimidating breath, his shoulders swelling and his head turning down to gaze at her from below his brow. She guessed this was an action meant to intimidate, something he might have used when face to face with an aggressive opponent. But after just a brief moment, his body jolted as a horror tore through him, and he snapped his head back and forth and took a step back.

"We made a deal," she breathed.

"Our deal was that I would find you entrance, and I have," he growled, taking a step forward. He was not much taller than her, but in that moment, he made her feel small. "I will take my rig and shall make my own way."

He turned a massive shoulder and continued down the dark corridor. Furiosa stood silent for a moment, jaw clenched. "You are naught but a coward, you poor, tormented man," she cried, slamming her steel fist into the wall.

And he disappeared into the darkness once again.

* * *

It had taken Honor and The Soft two days to coax Eve from her notions of departure. They had torn her hands from the linens, the carpet bags, the door frame.

"After they make their deal," Evening had whispered, holding Honor close one night. "Then I am at peace with departing… We leave on good terms. No bridges burnt."

She knew that if she busied herself with plans to trade with Bartertown, he would not creep to the forefront of her thoughts. "It would be better for him to be dead," Max had said to her, and she knew it was not said out of spite. But rather some notion that death would have been more peaceful for the boy she once loved.

She wondered now what had become of him. What he looked like, who he was.

 _"He lives?" she had breathed, clutching at the front of Max's shirt._

 _He had nodded, his face cold as stone._

 _"Where is he? I must see him."_

 _"He is not the boy you remember. I imagine you'll meet him again," he had muttered, taking a step away from her._

 _"Bring me to him," she had pleaded after him, grasping at his clothing._

 _"I will not."_

And he had departed, with not another word. He avoided her was days after that, and she wondered if he intended to ever look upon her again. And as they prepared for Bartertown, she clung to Toast and busied herself. She thought not of Sevan nor Max. She only thought of leaving the Citadel and finding a new life out in the sand and sun.

She did not need this place. Nor did she need him.

Nor his brother.

* * *

 _It was hot—like a fire lit within the caverns of her belly. She could hardly draw air into her lungs, her breaths short and labored. A tight grasp on her hips, holding her still, not allowing her to twist and turn. Finger nails dug into flesh and hair._

 _A hot mouth igniting the fire within, causing her to arch up, head back, mouth open. But he held her tighter, pulling her closer to his tongue—wanting to taste everything. She grasped furiously at the top of his head with her steel grip, her fleshly hand anchored to his wrist, holding on as though she were to drown._

 _"Say it," he growled, and she could feel the words against her sensitive flesh._

 _His stubble brushed against her and she moaned in response. She clutched at his hair harder, attempting to direct him back to her skin—to finish what he started. But he pressed back against her grasp in defiance._

 _"Say it."_

 _She opened her eyes to look at him now, meeting his cold gaze. Her mouth fell open slightly._

 _"I…. I want…" she stopped short, taking a sharp breath as he released a hot breath of air against her flesh. His fingers clamped harder onto her hips._

 _"Say it," he growled._

 _Her face straightened, her body relaxing._

 _"I want you."_

Furiosa jolted awake, her body seizing against the steel doorframe she had been leaned against. The vehicle rumbled against the sand, navigating across the Fury Road. The sky was painted red in the first sunlight of the day, like blood across the stars.

"Good dream?"

She glanced to her side. He stared at her, as he leaned back against the seat, hand resting lazily against the steering wheel. His jaw was set as he watched her, the muscles bulging.

"Nightmare," she breathed.

"Didn't sound like it."

Her gaze snapped to his before she quickly averted her eyes. "Let me drive so you can sleep," she breathed, readjusting herself within her seat.

He shook his head. "I find more rest there," he jutted his chin toward the sand road ahead of them. "than what I find when I close my eyes."

"How long until Bartertown?"

He swiped the back of his hand across his brow. The sun was barely up and already sweltering heat lingered in the air. "Another night's drive."

She looked over into the backseat of the War Rig. "Where are the wives?"

Max said nothing for a moment. "Honor is asleep underneath the cabin. Toast and Eve, in the back."

Furiosa sighed and leaned back into the rotting leather of her seat. She rolled her head to the side, cheek bone pressed to the flesh of the seat and inhaled the long forgotten scent that lingered beneath the dust and rot—fresh leather. A delicacy. And she wondered if she only imagined it half the time.

"Do you believe it was right of me to leave Capable at the helm?" she breathed, staring out across the sand. "Such a young, innocent girl."

Max said nothing.

* * *

The rifle was propped against the mouth of the back cabin, staring out at the sand they left behind. Her cheek would surely bruise, pressed against the wooden butt of the gun, staring down the scope.

"You can give it a rest. Anyone that comes within a hundred mile radius, we will see them in this wasteland. Sit back," Toast spoke, leaned lazily against the steel interior of the cabin.

Eve sighed and pulled the rifle into her lap, seating herself across from Toast.

There was a pregnant silence as the rig continued to roar across the sand, jostling as it occasionally passed over a dune or pot hole in the weather road.

"You love him?" Toast spoke, staring at Eve through half-shut lashes. "Mad Max."

Eve's brow creased. "Max, what?" she smiled faintly.

She shrugged. "Furiosa calls him that when he's in a foul mood. Which is the majority of the time… He's a distressed soul."

Eve said nothing for a moment. "Does she love him?"

Toast now locked her gaze on Eve, fully awake now. A moment paused and Eve wondered if she would even respond anymore.

"I believe she does."

"And you?" Eve nearly whispered.

Toast laughed. "I haven't an eye for the filthy mad man." She smiled, curling her back against the corner of the cabin, pulling her ragged coat tighter around her shoulders. She nestled her body closer to the wall and shut her eyes.

"No," Eve breathed. "I meant, do you love her?"

Toast said nothing.

* * *

 **Let me know what you guys think!**


End file.
